Impulses
by Daphne22
Summary: Third Oneshot Up: A character study of Dash Baxter. Even golden boys have secrets.
1. Impulse

**This is just a very short character study I wrote to give myself a break from "Suggestion Obession Awake". If I write more one shots, they'll probably just end up piling uphere.**

**- Daphne**

* * *

She wonders about him, late at night when she secretly sticks her head into his room to see if he's still in his bed. There's no reason he shouldn't be, but it's a mother's impulse. In the dark when she needs a glass of water, to go the bathroom, or just wakes up for no reason at all, the impulse always takes her. She is incapable of walking past daughter's door or her son's. As she slides down the hallway, almost silently, on the tips of her toes, she touches their doors and looks inside. She reassures herself that they are still there, still safe in her house. She has to know that she has fufilled her maternal obligation and that her children are still whole.

The older they get the more she thinks that's that's becoming the sum of her responsibility, to keep them in one piece, to keep them alive. They are growing up after all, they need her less and less and depend on themselves more and more. They have their own minds, their own hearts, their own thoughts and fears, all independent from her, all outside of her power to save, correct or mend. Teenagers, leave their mother behind. Nothing could be more natural.

But when she opens the door and watches at her youngest, her baby, her boy, she wonders: Is keeping him alive enough? She sees his pale face dressed in moonlight, still the face of a child. She can see the blue of his veins running in a delicate line over his jaw and she marvels at the thin, fragile skin, still unmarked by age and time. She watches him breath soft and slow and wonders if she spread her hand, would it still cover the rising ribs, would she still feel the bones just beneath her fingers? He looks so sweet and silent, like the sleeping boy she has peered in upon for forteen years.

He is still alive.

She wonders how this sleeping boy can be the boy her child has become. The boy her child has become betrays his child's face with sharp firey eyes. The boy her child has become lies as easily as he tells the truth, false stories smoothly falling off his tongue. The boy her child has become behaves as if the world were to lie on his shoulders and not even Atlas could ease the burden.

What happened to her son to put that burden, those stories, those eyes, she does not know. Nor does she think he will tell her. Children needs secrets. He will tell her when the time comes.

Until then, she just hopes to keep him alive. And as she closes the door and slips down the hall in the shadowy moonlight, she hopes it is enough.


	2. Wouldn't Miss It

**After all the last one shot, I got to thinking about mothers and a one shot about a different mom came to mind. I hope this isn't too odd.**

**-Daphne**

* * *

She ran her hands under the hot water of the kitchen sink,scraping the purple paint out from underneath her fingers. It was her turn to cook and paint chips weren't a part of anyone's balanced diet, even if they were a part of her day's work as an artist. 

"Mom!"

Sam rolled her eyes heavenward, why couldn't her son ever greet her without yelling?

"Yes, sweetie?"

The boy, not quite nine years old and still a little small for his age,climbed up onto a stool by the kitchen counter.

"I finished my homework."

"Already?" Sam checked the blue eyes staring up at her to see if they were honest.

"Uh-huh. I started right after school. I only had math so I finished fast."

"You finished 'quickly'," she found herself correcting the boy as she pulled vegetables out of the refrigerator.

"Right." He watched as his mother moved around the kitchen chopping and humming to herself. It was a melody he'd heard since he was a little boy and it made him feel warm inside, despite the fact that the woman humming it was a far cry from musically gifted. "What's for dinner?" He asked curiously as he lay his head in his hands.

"Salad, couscous, and humus."

The boy stuck out his tongue. "Yuck. Humus. Can we have hamburgers instead?" His round face was filled with hope.

"You can have hamburgers when your father cooks. You know that."

"Yeah," he sighed.

She glanced sideways at her son, who appeared to have gone through some sort of major defeat at this news. "How about tortellini, instead?"

"Yes!" His face lit up at the idea of cheese filled pasta.

"You still have to eat some salad, though, dear."

He nodded, his black hair shaking wildly as he did so. "I will!" There was a momentary silence from the boy, while his mother filled a pot with water and set it to boil.

"So," he finally said.

"So," Sam replied.

"Mother."

"Benjamin." This was a game they played when he wanted something. He pretended to act overly formal and grown up. She responded in kind.

"My homework is done."

"So you said."

"So, I have nothing to do tonight."

"Your mother thinks something can be devised, young Benjamin Fenton."

The boy tried to hold back a giggle. Giggling wouldn't have been keeping with the fake seriousness. Sam was doing the same, a smile twitched on her lips, however. Her son slid off of his stool a white light flashing across his body as he did so.

The boy floated over to his mother, his hair now a glowing white, his skin translucent and pale, his green glowing eyes looking at her playfully. The woman stopped chopping and raised an eyebrow at this performance.

"I had an idea."

"You had an idea?"

"I was thinking maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

The ghost boy floated up until he was face to face with his mother. He placed his small hands on her shoulders and fixed her directly in the eyes. Sam, couldn't help but be amused at how serious he looked, but repressed another smile for his sake.

"I want to go flying."

Ben had recently begun levitating and floating with more control and agility. As a result Danny had begun to take him for flying lessons. It amused and intrigued Sam to watch her son gain abilities, one after the other, taking them on as a part of growing up, rather than dealing with their sudden appearance, as her husband had.

"Well," she said, brushing the white hair away from his cool face, "you'll have to wait until after dark. And you'll have to ask your father if he'll take you."

"Really?" A smile broke out across his face and his ghostly tail twitched madly with excitement.

"It's fine with me."

"Yessss!" His arms shot up in triumph and he drifted across the kitchen away from her.

At that moment another figure drifted up from the floor and solidified behind Sam. It then opened the refrigerator and leaned on the door, staring at the contents.

"Danny!"

"Hey, honey." He kissed his wife on the check and turned his attention back to the fridge.

"You know you're supposed to use the stairs." She gestured towards their son floating at the opposite end of the room. Making up rules of etiquette for ghost children wasn't exactly easy, but they had figured it was probably a good idea. It didn't help, however, if the ghost parent was always breaking them.

"Sorry." Danny grimaced, pulling a drink out of the refrigerator and shutting the door.

"Hey, Dad!"

In a moment there was a very, very energetic young ghost staring him in the face. Danny let his blue eyes blink in response.

"Yeah?"

"I finished all my homework and Mom said it was okay to go flying tonight if you would take me, so will you take me, please, please. I really did get all my homework done, it was just math." It all came out in a stream of excited words tumbling out of the little boy's mouth.

"I think," he said, grinning at his son, "that we can do that."

"Woo " The boy's arms shot above his head in a repeat performance of his last victory. This time, however, when he flew across the room he spun slightly and began to wobble. Within seconds it was obvious that he didn't have total control over himself and in all likelihood he would crash into something unpleasant, like the china cabinet.

"Ben!" A flash of white appeared as Danny instinctively changed forms, while throwing himself at the boy. He managed to catch the child and stop both of their bodies in mid-air before anything was able to collide. Sam's hand flew to her mouth and her eyes opened wide in the moment it took for the entire event to occur.

"It's okay," the older ghost said to the frightened child ghost in his arms, "no harm done." He ruffled the child's hair. "You really do need practice," he said laughing lightly. Ben looked up at his father and, realizing he was not only all right but that he wasn't in trouble, began giggling in response.

Sam watched the two phantoms, floating and laughing in front of her. These were the most important men in her life, a pair of silly giggling ghosts. They were odd and as long as she loved them her life would never be less than strange. But they were hers and that was all that mattered.

"Mom?" The little boy flew out of his father's arms and landed in front of his mother, changing back into the boy with his father's eyes and his mother's mouth. "You'll come watch won't you?"

"Of course," she smiled. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."


	3. Keeping Secrets

He gets home late, like he does almost every night. His body still radiates heat from football practice despite the shower he took and his backpack feels heavy on his tired body. He walks through the living room to the kitchen. His father is watching TV, his mother is doing the dishes.

"Hey, Dad." His father raises a hand in acknowledgment.

As always his family has already eaten without him. He puts his bag down and opens the refrigerator taking out the foil wrapped plate that he knows will be there. His mother looks up from her scrubbing.

"Hi, sweetie. How was practice?" She's always cheerful, no matter how tired and worn her face has become.

"It was good." He says putting his cold dinner in the microwave. "How was your day?"

"Oh, you know. The same old, same old." She opens her mouth to say something else but just smiles at him and rinses out the sink. He sits down at the table with his chicken and his potatoes and the silence between them. He wishes he had something to talk to her about but nothing comes to mind. She kisses the top of his head on the way out of the room. "There's pie if you want some, Dash."

"Thanks."

He eats quickly then goes into the living room and sits next to his father. The man is rapidly flipping through channels. "You going to watch the race with me tonight?" He asks. His father is devoted to NASCAR. Dash wishes he liked it and he's watched a hundred races to please his old man. Still, the only thing he sees is two dozen cars driving around in circles.

Dash shakes his head. "I've got too much homework."

His father grunts in acknowledgment and continues flipping the channels. He pauses for a moment at a popular sitcom and waves at the screen, "How can people watch this faggoty crap? Goddamn homosexuals are on every channel now."

The boy shrugs. "I dunno, Dad." He gets up. "I've got a report I should be working on, though."

"Gotta keep those grades up, son," the man nods. "If you don't they won't let you play football, remember that."

"Yes, sir."

Dash grabs his backpack and heads up stairs to his room. He throws himself backwards on to his bed and thinks about the man downstairs. He wonders what he meant about the comment he made to the sitcom. Dash turns over and buries his face inside his pillow, wishing all his secrets would go away: the teddy bears he can't seem to part with, the fact that he hates being called Dash.

I have a real name, he thinks. It's David, after his grandfather. Not that anyone would know. He's been Dash Baxter for as long as anyone remembers.

A bigger secret floats through Dash's mind as his father's comment echoes through his head. He wonders if his father knows. A wave of nausea over takes him as he buries his faces deeper into his pillow, picturing his father's disgust and disapproval. No, he tells himself, his father doesn't know. There's no way he could know. Dash is so careful to make sure nothing slips- ever.

He pulls himself together and dutifully finishes his homework before collapsing into bed again. He falls asleep quickly, worn out from another day of pushing his body to its athletic limits and being one of the centers of attention at school. Being a golden boy is exhausting.

Eventually the blackness of sleep gives way to a dream. He's sitting next to a dark-haired boy a few inches shorter than he is, although where they are he doesn't know.

I'm sorry, he says to the boy.

Don't worry, I understand, the boy replies.

And with a sureness that only comes in dreams Dash understands that he doesn't have to be Dash anymore and that 'I understand' means so much more. He leans over to kiss him, his body screaming that it wants contact. The boy leans forwards as well and then they are both falling. They are hurtling towards the ground and Dash can hear buzzers sounding in the background, insistent and painful in his ears.

This is my punishment, he thinks.

He wakes up. He is sweaty underneath the sheets and his alarm clock is yelling shrilly into his ears.

Later that morning as he walks to class with his friends, a boy bumps into him from behind. He whips around and sees the same boy from his dream. Dash feels a thousand things swell up inside him as he glowers at the boy.

"Watch it, Fenton!" he growls.

The boy holds his hands up, trying to ward off the angry football player. "Geez, I'm sorry, Dash."

Dash opens his mouth to speak and then remembers his friends behind him, watching them. He grabs the boy by the shoulders, feeling his muscles tense up under his t-shirt. "Sorry, doesn't cut it Fentina. This isn't the first or even the second time." He pulls the boy towards him, their faces inches away as they glare at each other.

Danny doesn't reply. They stand there staring at each other, Dash holding him by the shoulders. Suddenly a chill runs through Dash. Does he know? He pushes the boy away forcefully.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood today," he says, turning back towards his friends.

As he walks to class, a new feeling towards the boy, separate from desire or anger, begins to form. Dash envies him, he realizes. He gets to be just plain old Danny Fenton, no pressure to be anything else, no secrets to hide.

It must be nice not to have to keep secrets.

* * *

**I didn't really mean to write another one shot. It just happened. **

**I got to thinking about Dash and his relatively two-dimensional character on the show. I started thinking about people I'd known in high school who appeared pretty much the same way in real life. Given how much I love trying to flesh out these cartoon characters, I wanted find the reasons behind Dash's behavior and figure out where he came from. I didn't mean to write a slash piece (and I don't think I did.) **

**By the end, I felt pretty sorry for the kid. I hope things get better for him in college.**

**- Daphne**


End file.
